I would be amused if Noel goes all authoritarian on the populace. Elsie'd probably try to back Noel up, considering how rigid the command structure was back on her precious space station. Then you'd have the group made by a villain trying to save Lady Asyr and the group made by a good guy trying to instill order into the populace.
Edit: Oh, shoot. I meant to give her some more flashbacks during the fight. Oh well, I suppose PTSD symptoms can wait a post or two.
Sutternalt Member
- Last Seen: 11 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Sutternalt
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 126 (0.03 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Sutternalt 12 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Alisdragon911
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
The C.E./Elsie Detchkiss
Elsie grabbed one of the bombs. She was used to repairing bomb damage, not causing it. The device was a chunky metal box with terrifying cylindrical caps sticking out of the side. A small LCD said "Armed". Beneath the display was a simple three-button control pad: "Disarm", "Arm", and "Det. Seq.". Obviously the HoP wasn't concerned about collateral damage any more. Looking at the mob of undead things assaulting the shield line of cyborgs, that didn't particularly surprise Elsie. She ignited the plasma cutter, quickly dialling back the power to minimum. The heat that it gave off could easily burn nearby unshielded people, and Elsie needed to get through the army of police 'borgs first. Then she shoved the bomb into an auxiliary suit compartment, dumping out one of the power cells used to recharge her energy gun. It didn't seem like ranged weapons would be terribly useful here.
"Let me through, 'borg," Elsie shouted above the gunfire. Cyborgs back on the station were bound to Asimov's three laws; orders were followed or else the cyborg's circuits fried. The police line shuffled a bit around the edges, and Elsie squeezed through underneath a withering glare from the police cyborg. She was, in fact, shoved into the mass of death. "Wonderful," Elsie muttered, "Zombies."
The Dead Masks took advantage of the shove, and began to swarm over Elsie's hardsuit. Recovering from the stumble, she turned up the plasma cutter to full. The Dead Mask that had been tugging at the device had its arm liquified. Several of the others surrounding her were burned enough to at least stun them for a few moments. She swung the plasma cutter in a wide arc, cutting herself some breathing room. Gunfire came suspiciously close to hitting her suit, and she felt at least one of the Dead Masks slam inanimatedly against the back of her hardsuit. Mortar shells began whistling overhead, exploding violently somewhere to her right.
As Elsie settled into the familiar routine of exchanging blows with a horrific enemy, she was silently thankful for the internal air supply. Corpses smelled bad enough, but burning corpses were another story altogether. Rumors of zombie infections on other space stations and the unusual plethora of zombie literature on this Earth probably outlined the best course of action, but all Elsie could really remember were two things: 1. Don't get surrounded (she'd purposefully done so) and 2. Use ranged weapons.
"Damnit," she muttered. Hindsight told her that she'd had no choice; if she wanted to use the bomb, she had to do it somewhere away from collateral targets (i.e. the police 'borgs). Thunk! went another mortar shell. It screamed through its arc and exploded violoently. At least they weren't hitting her. Yet. Without warning, the power cut out from all the nearby buildings. The wireframing goggles displayed snaking fissures in the pavement in bright green polygons. Apparently the zombies were smart enough to cut the power.
Elsie grabbed one of the bombs. She was used to repairing bomb damage, not causing it. The device was a chunky metal box with terrifying cylindrical caps sticking out of the side. A small LCD said "Armed". Beneath the display was a simple three-button control pad: "Disarm", "Arm", and "Det. Seq.". Obviously the HoP wasn't concerned about collateral damage any more. Looking at the mob of undead things assaulting the shield line of cyborgs, that didn't particularly surprise Elsie. She ignited the plasma cutter, quickly dialling back the power to minimum. The heat that it gave off could easily burn nearby unshielded people, and Elsie needed to get through the army of police 'borgs first. Then she shoved the bomb into an auxiliary suit compartment, dumping out one of the power cells used to recharge her energy gun. It didn't seem like ranged weapons would be terribly useful here.
"Let me through, 'borg," Elsie shouted above the gunfire. Cyborgs back on the station were bound to Asimov's three laws; orders were followed or else the cyborg's circuits fried. The police line shuffled a bit around the edges, and Elsie squeezed through underneath a withering glare from the police cyborg. She was, in fact, shoved into the mass of death. "Wonderful," Elsie muttered, "Zombies."
The Dead Masks took advantage of the shove, and began to swarm over Elsie's hardsuit. Recovering from the stumble, she turned up the plasma cutter to full. The Dead Mask that had been tugging at the device had its arm liquified. Several of the others surrounding her were burned enough to at least stun them for a few moments. She swung the plasma cutter in a wide arc, cutting herself some breathing room. Gunfire came suspiciously close to hitting her suit, and she felt at least one of the Dead Masks slam inanimatedly against the back of her hardsuit. Mortar shells began whistling overhead, exploding violently somewhere to her right.
As Elsie settled into the familiar routine of exchanging blows with a horrific enemy, she was silently thankful for the internal air supply. Corpses smelled bad enough, but burning corpses were another story altogether. Rumors of zombie infections on other space stations and the unusual plethora of zombie literature on this Earth probably outlined the best course of action, but all Elsie could really remember were two things: 1. Don't get surrounded (she'd purposefully done so) and 2. Use ranged weapons.
"Damnit," she muttered. Hindsight told her that she'd had no choice; if she wanted to use the bomb, she had to do it somewhere away from collateral targets (i.e. the police 'borgs). Thunk! went another mortar shell. It screamed through its arc and exploded violoently. At least they weren't hitting her. Yet. Without warning, the power cut out from all the nearby buildings. The wireframing goggles displayed snaking fissures in the pavement in bright green polygons. Apparently the zombies were smart enough to cut the power.
In
Looking for help/interest: Patchwork Multiverse Revival?
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Interest Checks
>>>>OOC<<<<
I was reading through the RPGN and got to the first issue, where I noticed this roleplay. It's a multiverse rp wherein everybody starts out on their own hex of land, and then it's pretty free-form from there. The old one died a long time ago, and it's owner, Queen Raidne, hasn't responded to my PM's/hasn't been on for a while anyway, so whatever. I think it's a neat concept, although it needs some refinement, and so I want to restart it.
I'd like someone to help me do that, or at least some help in figuring out what went wrong so that we can avoid it going wrong again. Perhaps place the RP on Earth and then leave it as a sandbox? I'm not sure.
I was reading through the RPGN and got to the first issue, where I noticed this roleplay. It's a multiverse rp wherein everybody starts out on their own hex of land, and then it's pretty free-form from there. The old one died a long time ago, and it's owner, Queen Raidne, hasn't responded to my PM's/hasn't been on for a while anyway, so whatever. I think it's a neat concept, although it needs some refinement, and so I want to restart it.
I'd like someone to help me do that, or at least some help in figuring out what went wrong so that we can avoid it going wrong again. Perhaps place the RP on Earth and then leave it as a sandbox? I'm not sure.
Hey there.
I'm looking for someone to draw/cgi/visually represent a character I'm RP'ing. No real time limit; I just think an image would help everyone... visualize... my character. The problem is that she's based off of a (very) low resolution 2D videogame, and the best representation I can find (or generate) is smaller than 50x50 pixels. Note that you don't have to stick to the in-game images; they're just there for more inspiration. Anyone up for it?
Character Sheet
Game Image
"Structural Wireframing" Goggles
Plasma Cutter
Energy Gun
I'm looking for someone to draw/cgi/visually represent a character I'm RP'ing. No real time limit; I just think an image would help everyone... visualize... my character. The problem is that she's based off of a (very) low resolution 2D videogame, and the best representation I can find (or generate) is smaller than 50x50 pixels. Note that you don't have to stick to the in-game images; they're just there for more inspiration. Anyone up for it?
Character Sheet
Game Image
"Structural Wireframing" Goggles
Plasma Cutter
Energy Gun
You can still edit it! I'll counteredit, if I have to. If you just take it to give Elsie a phone call, it'll all work out fine. Especially since The C.E. still has no idea that she's Lady Asyr.
Oh. Heh, I meant for the random girl in my previous post to be Lady Asyr, but that's okay, it works fine if it's not. Posted! Hopefully we can start getting even more people together; it's hard to interact when we're scattered all over the place.
The C.E./Elsie Detchkiss
Elsie turned out into the broad daylight of Gotham Boulevard. Urban City (what everyone was calling New York City these days, not that anyone knew where the nickname came from) was slowly starting to get on with its life. Lady Asyr was nowhere to be found. Her heroine was missing, and Elsie didn't have the first idea what to do about it. Some gang just sold some guns to a "shady character" despiter her best efforts, and now she'd revealed herself to a random person in an alley. She didn't feel very robust. If the blob fell from the sky in front of her, Elsie was certain that it would win.
Crossing the street toward her car, people ignored her. Most of them, anyway. A little boy took a picture with his phone before being dragged off by his mother. The light turned red, and Elsie took a ste-
Exactly none of that was a good sign, Elsie decided. And given how slow she was, she definitely needed some hel-
'Wait a minute,' Elsie thought, 'Wasn't one of those people coming down Gotham Boulevard?' She turned in the clunky white hardsuit. Gotham was perfectly normal in that direction, away from the crime scene. Which meant that the nanotech horror would be on the other side of Metropolis square, coming from uptown. Not to mention that Skeritt was in Metropolis Square at this very moment. Elsie still didn't trust that damn xeno. The Zenoth war had been The C.E.'s first real test of true heroism. It had helped that her costume was a space-worthy hardsuit. Fine, maybe she could salvage something from this day after all. Elsie hurried to get into her car.
Elsie pulled the doorless Saab to a stop near the police 'borgs. One of the newer police vehicles, a six-wheeled behemoth, blocked immediate access to the crime scene. The Head of Police [even if Elsie could substitute "police" for "security", the leader of the organization would always be a "Head" to her] was surveying the scene. Obviously she was the one in charge, and Elsie did not want to get brigged.
"Hey, HoP! Um, I mean, Chief!" she shouted. "Bad guys incoming! I gotta get through to tell that xeno bastard Skeritt! Nar-Sie, there's a whole lotta bad guys incoming! This is shaping up to be a major crisis, hey? Like, Zenoth War-big! One's practically right on top of us, on the other side of Metropolis Square! C'mon, let me through!"
Elsie turned out into the broad daylight of Gotham Boulevard. Urban City (what everyone was calling New York City these days, not that anyone knew where the nickname came from) was slowly starting to get on with its life. Lady Asyr was nowhere to be found. Her heroine was missing, and Elsie didn't have the first idea what to do about it. Some gang just sold some guns to a "shady character" despiter her best efforts, and now she'd revealed herself to a random person in an alley. She didn't feel very robust. If the blob fell from the sky in front of her, Elsie was certain that it would win.
Crossing the street toward her car, people ignored her. Most of them, anyway. A little boy took a picture with his phone before being dragged off by his mother. The light turned red, and Elsie took a ste-
owever, given that she's severely underpowered, she couldn't have gotten far from her last fight. Damon began to move around the area looking for Asyr, or at least a person who might b--p. The light had turned back to green by now, so she hastily stepped back onto the curb.
er clawed hand holding the skull suddenly turned to a fist and crushed the sku-
rned to follow her lead, whilst the rest of her kingdom stirred–
Wild dogs howled and big cats roared in cacophony at her arrival (or was it an animalistic requiem for the fallen superhero?) Whilst sentries of men in varying degrees of armour hailed attention.
Wincing, Marissa stepped out into the suns-
oooo!" Cain screamed loosing control of his temper the metal table he had just been laying on lifted up into the air along with every particle of metal he had been working with then in a instant the fell to the ground. The particl-
ame out on Gotham Boulevar-
Exactly none of that was a good sign, Elsie decided. And given how slow she was, she definitely needed some hel-
keritt began to search the crime sc--p. "Damnit, White Text, now you're helpful? Where were you an hour ago!" Elsie complained loudly. The mother of the boy (now across Gotham Boulevard) glared at The C.E.
going on inside Asyr's body-
n save her. I just need a sample of the infected DNA." He mutter-
-is is Electron. I assume you-
ficers Noelle donned her riot armor, took her Hawki-
"Connor..." started Miranda, trying to calm him down, "don't get worked up about it-"
ave something back at the lab that you need to see," she contin-
'Wait a minute,' Elsie thought, 'Wasn't one of those people coming down Gotham Boulevard?' She turned in the clunky white hardsuit. Gotham was perfectly normal in that direction, away from the crime scene. Which meant that the nanotech horror would be on the other side of Metropolis square, coming from uptown. Not to mention that Skeritt was in Metropolis Square at this very moment. Elsie still didn't trust that damn xeno. The Zenoth war had been The C.E.'s first real test of true heroism. It had helped that her costume was a space-worthy hardsuit. Fine, maybe she could salvage something from this day after all. Elsie hurried to get into her car.
Elsie pulled the doorless Saab to a stop near the police 'borgs. One of the newer police vehicles, a six-wheeled behemoth, blocked immediate access to the crime scene. The Head of Police [even if Elsie could substitute "police" for "security", the leader of the organization would always be a "Head" to her] was surveying the scene. Obviously she was the one in charge, and Elsie did not want to get brigged.
"Hey, HoP! Um, I mean, Chief!" she shouted. "Bad guys incoming! I gotta get through to tell that xeno bastard Skeritt! Nar-Sie, there's a whole lotta bad guys incoming! This is shaping up to be a major crisis, hey? Like, Zenoth War-big! One's practically right on top of us, on the other side of Metropolis Square! C'mon, let me through!"
Elsie Detchkiss/The C.E.
Downtown Urban City sprinted down Gotham Boulevard like one of those endless corridors only found in dreams. Skyscrapers moved aside near the end of the boulevard to make way for Metropolis Square, still cordoned off from Lady Asyr's fight. Elsie was sweating beneath the bulky white hardsuit, trying not to think about the state of her hair. Helmet hair was bad enough when she didn't have to lug the damn suit over half of Urban City chasing after an arms deal. Her specially-modified (i.e. doorless) Saab convertible (white, of course) lay blocks away.
"Should've stayed in the frelling car," she muttered, clomping her way down yet another random alley. The White Text had pointed her in this direction half an hour ago, but there wasn't anything here. "Frelling White Text. Frelling job. At least you knew when things were going to Nar-Sie on the space station." The energy gun and plasma cutter whapped against the hard suit with every step she took. Elsie was very near the panicked crowd now. Their dull murmur was cut through by mechanically augmented police voices, insisting everyone remain calm.
The alley ended in an intersection. Trash piled up high in the dirt-covered asphalt near the corner. Deep ruts ran the length of the cross-street; clearly the garbage truck ran through this alley. It must not have had a chance to get here yet; not surprising with the crowd. The fight had made Elsie concerned, but at this point, she just wanted to find the alley where the arms deal was supposed to be taking place. To the right, the alley opened straight into Metropolis Square. All Elsie could see was the back of a police cyborg. It reminded her of the space station's cyborgs, of watching halves of researchers getting dragged along a corridor to medical bay by efficient hovering white machines, of seeing ropes of alien green through her mesons, hearing nothing but her own breath as she hacked gooey holes into the blob with the plasma cutter-
{"Oh, Nar-Sie,"} she said. She wasn't sure when the hallucination had turned from flashback into the clean white text boxes. Right now, she didn't care, she just had to leave the intersection before the buildings closed in like corridor walls. {"Come on, just stop it! I don't need this right now!"} she shouted into the alley. The White Text stayed in front of her vision. Elsie ran blindly forward, trying to make out the wireframe in the back of her mind.
At this point, Elsie felt a sudden urge to stop. She really did feel like taking a rest, and maybe collapsing against the wall in a heap.
But Elsie kept running anyway, despite the White Text's best efforts to keep her from- the hallucination stopped abruptly, and a concrete wall filled her vision. With a plastic smack, she ran straight into the wall, stumbled back, and sat dazed. On the wall opposite, a woman was fumbling to zip up a backpack, hands trembling. It took a moment for the scene to come into focus. Elsie checked her watch. It had been a full two hours since she'd first started looking for the gun deal. Clearly it was too late for her to do anything about it.
And damnit, she didn't care any more, her face was dying and some annoying stray piece of hair kept finding its way into her mouth, so she took off her helmet. It wasn't like the other occupant of the alley would recognize her, or even care, probably. She pushed up the Mesons, revealing her violet eyes. She could tell that her face was a mess; even though the suit internals had an atmos cooler built in, it was still a lot of work to move around in.
"Sorry," she said, "It's just I couldn't really breathe anymore and..."
That's when she looked at the woman across from her properly and saw the bruises and cuts. Elsie shut her mouth. Whoever the woman was, she'd been beaten. Recently. Elsie suddenly felt inadequate. If Lady Asyr were here, she wouldn't be complaining. Lady Asyr probably would have immediately seen and helped this poor woman, gun dealers be damned. Even so, Elsie wasn't sure what to say. She could try and find the (husband? boyfriend? lover?) person who'd done it, but that didn't seem like it would help. Elsie just wanted to take the woman back to her crowded little apartment (smaller, crowded quarters felt more like home to Elsie) and make her some tea.
"Listen," Elsie started, "I, um, have a..." (but what if the woman was some deranged junkie?) "...thing about my face, so don't tell anyone what I look like, hey?" she finished lamely. How did Lady Asyr make this look so easy? Well, she couldn't just leave the woman like this. Elsie grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen from a pouch on her suit. "I don't know what happened, or whatever," (come on, just spit it out!) "but if you need... something, I guess you can call me. Uh, Elsie. That's my name, I mean. Oh! Don't tell anyone my name's Elsie." She left the scrap of paper with her number under a rock. "Damnit," she mumbled. This was hard.
She sighed in defeat, clambered to her feet, and started the long trek back to her car, equipment still whapping her with every step. It had been a very bad day. She remembered to don her helmet, hiding her identity again, at the last second.
Downtown Urban City sprinted down Gotham Boulevard like one of those endless corridors only found in dreams. Skyscrapers moved aside near the end of the boulevard to make way for Metropolis Square, still cordoned off from Lady Asyr's fight. Elsie was sweating beneath the bulky white hardsuit, trying not to think about the state of her hair. Helmet hair was bad enough when she didn't have to lug the damn suit over half of Urban City chasing after an arms deal. Her specially-modified (i.e. doorless) Saab convertible (white, of course) lay blocks away.
"Should've stayed in the frelling car," she muttered, clomping her way down yet another random alley. The White Text had pointed her in this direction half an hour ago, but there wasn't anything here. "Frelling White Text. Frelling job. At least you knew when things were going to Nar-Sie on the space station." The energy gun and plasma cutter whapped against the hard suit with every step she took. Elsie was very near the panicked crowd now. Their dull murmur was cut through by mechanically augmented police voices, insisting everyone remain calm.
The alley ended in an intersection. Trash piled up high in the dirt-covered asphalt near the corner. Deep ruts ran the length of the cross-street; clearly the garbage truck ran through this alley. It must not have had a chance to get here yet; not surprising with the crowd. The fight had made Elsie concerned, but at this point, she just wanted to find the alley where the arms deal was supposed to be taking place. To the right, the alley opened straight into Metropolis Square. All Elsie could see was the back of a police cyborg. It reminded her of the space station's cyborgs, of watching halves of researchers getting dragged along a corridor to medical bay by efficient hovering white machines, of seeing ropes of alien green through her mesons, hearing nothing but her own breath as she hacked gooey holes into the blob with the plasma cutter-
{"Oh, Nar-Sie,"} she said. She wasn't sure when the hallucination had turned from flashback into the clean white text boxes. Right now, she didn't care, she just had to leave the intersection before the buildings closed in like corridor walls. {"Come on, just stop it! I don't need this right now!"} she shouted into the alley. The White Text stayed in front of her vision. Elsie ran blindly forward, trying to make out the wireframe in the back of her mind.
At this point, Elsie felt a sudden urge to stop. She really did feel like taking a rest, and maybe collapsing against the wall in a heap.
But Elsie kept running anyway, despite the White Text's best efforts to keep her from- the hallucination stopped abruptly, and a concrete wall filled her vision. With a plastic smack, she ran straight into the wall, stumbled back, and sat dazed. On the wall opposite, a woman was fumbling to zip up a backpack, hands trembling. It took a moment for the scene to come into focus. Elsie checked her watch. It had been a full two hours since she'd first started looking for the gun deal. Clearly it was too late for her to do anything about it.
And damnit, she didn't care any more, her face was dying and some annoying stray piece of hair kept finding its way into her mouth, so she took off her helmet. It wasn't like the other occupant of the alley would recognize her, or even care, probably. She pushed up the Mesons, revealing her violet eyes. She could tell that her face was a mess; even though the suit internals had an atmos cooler built in, it was still a lot of work to move around in.
"Sorry," she said, "It's just I couldn't really breathe anymore and..."
That's when she looked at the woman across from her properly and saw the bruises and cuts. Elsie shut her mouth. Whoever the woman was, she'd been beaten. Recently. Elsie suddenly felt inadequate. If Lady Asyr were here, she wouldn't be complaining. Lady Asyr probably would have immediately seen and helped this poor woman, gun dealers be damned. Even so, Elsie wasn't sure what to say. She could try and find the (husband? boyfriend? lover?) person who'd done it, but that didn't seem like it would help. Elsie just wanted to take the woman back to her crowded little apartment (smaller, crowded quarters felt more like home to Elsie) and make her some tea.
"Listen," Elsie started, "I, um, have a..." (but what if the woman was some deranged junkie?) "...thing about my face, so don't tell anyone what I look like, hey?" she finished lamely. How did Lady Asyr make this look so easy? Well, she couldn't just leave the woman like this. Elsie grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen from a pouch on her suit. "I don't know what happened, or whatever," (come on, just spit it out!) "but if you need... something, I guess you can call me. Uh, Elsie. That's my name, I mean. Oh! Don't tell anyone my name's Elsie." She left the scrap of paper with her number under a rock. "Damnit," she mumbled. This was hard.
She sighed in defeat, clambered to her feet, and started the long trek back to her car, equipment still whapping her with every step. It had been a very bad day. She remembered to don her helmet, hiding her identity again, at the last second.
I'm going to assume this is taking place in a generic alternate-dimension version of New York City (...because all superhero stories take place in generic alternate-dimension versions of New York City). So I'll take the liberty of naming some things in my post after popular comic book locations (because... hey, why not?). Not that they're related to the actual locations in comic books, but we can't just keep calling it "the city" and "that street" in every post. Feel free to mention if I'm going against your concept, MusesFallFirst.
|Real Name/Hero name: Elsie Detchkiss/The C.E.
|Role: Hero
|Appearance: Horrifically {Excuse me? It is not horrific. It's very fashionable!} hot pink hair (not dyed, but rather, genetically modified) put up into a classy retro {That's better.} (to our universe) beehive style. Her eyes are genetically modified violet. Of course, you couldn't tell either of these things when she's dressed in the bulky white hardsuit. {Ugh, don't remind me. I'd paint it if that wouldn't compromise the radiation-shielding's integrity.] The helmet of the hardsuit is only transparant around the glowing green structural wireframing goggles (which she refers to as "mesons" {Optical mesons, technically} [nobody is particularly interested in technicality at the moment]), and the mag-boots are big and clunky. She finds the thing regrettably fashion-backward. {That's... a nice way of putting it.}
|Powers:
{Damn. Why can't you ever tell me anything actually useful, White Text?}
{That's a hint, by the way.}
{Hello?}
{White Text?}
{...Fragging hell.}
|Talents: Engineering background (more based on space-station maintenence than actual engineering, honestly, {Excuuuse me?} ...though she's quite handy, and if she had the right materials and a spaceship, she could probably recreate a Hawking Radiation electrical generator {You're damn right I could!] (not that that's much use stuck on Earth)). Experienced with space-walking and zero-g maneuvering. Pretty decent wielding a plasma cutter; {Heehee. You get to learn things fighting off an alien blob. Especially with the whole not-quite-dying thing.}
|Personality: [Oh, God.] {Well, go on. Do tell, White Text.} She can be very difficult sometimes {...}, being used to a wholly different lifestyle. I personally think that her time spent watching her friends die and fighting an alien alone hasn't really healed yet, and she tends to cover up scars with light-hearted jabbing and expositions about fashion (something I haven't seen her actually get into; not really).
Uh, but she's really not bad, honestly, I mean, in a way she was the hero of her station. And she's got, what, moxie? That bit of firey passion that won't let her back down from some things. She's a nice enough person, charming in her own way, really. Friendly. Pretty, I suppose. Uh, maybe that should go in appearance, I guess. Damnit, why aren't you saying anything? I have to tell the truth as I see it, here.
|Role: Hero
|Appearance: Horrifically {Excuse me? It is not horrific. It's very fashionable!} hot pink hair (not dyed, but rather, genetically modified) put up into a classy retro {That's better.} (to our universe) beehive style. Her eyes are genetically modified violet. Of course, you couldn't tell either of these things when she's dressed in the bulky white hardsuit. {Ugh, don't remind me. I'd paint it if that wouldn't compromise the radiation-shielding's integrity.] The helmet of the hardsuit is only transparant around the glowing green structural wireframing goggles (which she refers to as "mesons" {Optical mesons, technically} [nobody is particularly interested in technicality at the moment]), and the mag-boots are big and clunky. She finds the thing regrettably fashion-backward. {That's... a nice way of putting it.}
|Powers:
- Hard Suit Protection - designed for work in space; well-shielded against radiation and heat, and mildlyalmost effective against impacts (such as gunfire) {Ha! If that's mildly effective, I'd hate to see ineffective. Just what are your metrics, I wonder?} [My metrics are very fine, thank you.] {Really.} [Fine, I'll edit it. Jeez.]
- Mag Boots - Lets her keep her footing on metallic surfaces. Very useful in space. Limited use on the ground, because it's not strong enough to support her own weight, but it can help in certain situations. Like 45 degree angled metal ramps, or slick catwalks.
- Plasma Cutter - Infinitely-fuelled plasma device capable of cutting through solid rock. {And bone. And metal. And-} [That's enough of that, thank you. I think we get the point.]
- Energy Gun - A {fraggin' useless} laser gun with two modes - stun and lethal burn - and five shots before you have to recharge it. {Who the Nar-sie designed this thing, anyway? did you?} [Technically, no.] {I thought they weren't intersted in technicality.} Elsie's rigged her suit to give her 15 additional shots of recharge, but that's the best she can do. Energy guns need quite a bit of power. {What, no retort? Going soft on me, White Text?}
- Structural Wireframe Goggles {Optical Meson Scanners, damnit!}- Projects a wireframe of man-made structures via mesonic doppler effect. Though it'll show the outline of the room, it won't detail the occupants or furniture, and there's a limited range. But other than that, they're almost X-Ray goggles. {Why would you even want X-ray gog-}
- Health-Eez Bi-Viral Injection - Allows Elsie to heal - one virus turns wounded flesh into a biologically toxic compount, and the other turns the toxic compound into healed flesh. Major damage can take days and weeks to repair (and even minor damage takes a few minutes - just long enough to be useless in shorter fights), but unless Elsie's electrical signals in her brain completely stop, she'll live.
{That's a hint, by the way.}
{Hello?}
{White Text?}
{...Fragging hell.}
|Talents: Engineering background (more based on space-station maintenence than actual engineering, honestly, {Excuuuse me?} ...though she's quite handy, and if she had the right materials and a spaceship, she could probably recreate a Hawking Radiation electrical generator {You're damn right I could!] (not that that's much use stuck on Earth)). Experienced with space-walking and zero-g maneuvering. Pretty decent wielding a plasma cutter; {Heehee. You get to learn things fighting off an alien blob. Especially with the whole not-quite-dying thing.}
|Personality: [Oh, God.] {Well, go on. Do tell, White Text.} She can be very difficult sometimes {...}, being used to a wholly different lifestyle. I personally think that her time spent watching her friends die and fighting an alien alone hasn't really healed yet, and she tends to cover up scars with light-hearted jabbing and expositions about fashion (something I haven't seen her actually get into; not really).
Uh, but she's really not bad, honestly, I mean, in a way she was the hero of her station. And she's got, what, moxie? That bit of firey passion that won't let her back down from some things. She's a nice enough person, charming in her own way, really. Friendly. Pretty, I suppose. Uh, maybe that should go in appearance, I guess. Damnit, why aren't you saying anything? I have to tell the truth as I see it, here.
© 2007-2026